Under the Briar
by wynnebat
Summary: When Voldemort confines all of Hogwarts and Dumbledore dies, Harry must work with an unlikely ally to save his friends from an eternal sleep. An H/D retelling of Briar Rose.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary:** When Voldemort confines all of Hogwarts and kills Dumbledore, Harry must work with an unlikely ally to save his friends from an eternal sleep. AU of HBP. H/D slash.

**Disclaimer:** These characters are owned by JKR and the plot is loosely based on Briar Rose, a fairy tale collected and recorded by the Grimm Brothers. I own nothing and make no profit from this story.

**Warning:** Minor violence, language, blood, H/D slash.

**Notes:** Written for Gamma Orionis' Favorite Genre Boot Camp with the prompt wax (very literal, with the case of the briar, but also about Harry's relationship with Draco) and Camp Potter with the prompt finding a weakness (Voldemort's weakness and the wall's weakness, in this case).

**Timeline: **The story starts after Harry learns about the horcruxes and before Harry curses Draco.

* * *

**Under the Briar**

_A retelling of the fairytale "Briar Rose"  
With the characters of Harry Potter_

**I**

Once upon a windy, rainy April day in northern Scotland, the entire population of Hogwarts sat in the Great Hall, eating, talking, and making merry. The Golden Trio, as they were dubbed by various well-wishers and those who believed in the Prophesy, sat at the center of the Gryffindor table. At Harry's side sat Ron and Hermione, awkwardly not speaking of Ron's relationship with Lavender, while Harry sat in silence, trying not to listen to the students around him.

"Oh, Draco Malfoy just looks so dreamy!" whispered a younger student, talking very quietly as she sat next to Malfoy's sworn rival.

"The rose goes so well with his hair! And with his, well, everything!" admired her friend with a heavy sigh and a flutter of her eyelashes.

"Who wouldn't fall for—" the aforementioned student waved her fork in a motion that encompassed Draco Malfoy's body, her piece of pie almost falling into Harry's plate "—_that_?"

Under his breath, Harry muttered, "Who _would_?"

It wasn't that Harry was upset that this specific group of girls had finally stopped talking about Harry's own looks (he was damn happy about it, actually), mainly that their choice of topic was downright disturbing. Draco Malfoy, arsehole of Slytherin, was nowhere near dreamy. In fact, he was suspicious and the son of a confirmed Death Eater, as well as a possible (and _probable_, as he'd told his friends many times) Death Eater himself. Not that these two small facts mattered when compared to his looks, according to what looked like every girl in her second year and up said.

Harry glared at as he stuffed mashed potatoes in his mouth to keep himself from yelling at them as they once again swooned. His dinner was being ruined by Malfoy again, and the bastard wasn't even here to ruin it himself.

"He's a bloody Slytherin," Harry said to Ron and Hermione. "That should be enough to hate him."

"He looks like a poof with that rose on his robes," Ron muttered.

"Yeah," Harry agreed, tracking Malfoy's movement. His rival had been becoming more stressed each day, and Harry just knew that if he looked closely enough, he could figure out what he was planning. And besides, "Who wears white roses on their robes?"

"Most of the Slytherins, half the Ravenclaws, and a few Hufflepuffs do. They've been wearing them all month. Don't you boys have something better to do than stare at Malfoy?" Hermione said, not bothering to look up from her book. They'd had this conversation multiple times, enough so that Hermione could tell him off without even listening. Not that Harry was planning to stop being suspicious of Malfoy.

"It's all so strange," Harry said. Why were they wearing flowers all the time? Were they mourning someone? Pledging their support for Voldemort in a seemingly innocent way? Planning some sort of prank? That and Malfoy's constant visits to the Room of Requirement. Harry just didn't understand any of it, and the more he thought about it, the more determined he got to unveil Malfoy's plans.

"The only thing suspicious is why you keep stalking him," Hermione elected to say. "And why he looks so good with a rose," she added wistfully. "I wish _some people_ could be as classy as he." She pointedly did not look at Ron, but Ron blushed angrily all the same.

"He looks like a pretentious arse," Harry grumbled as his friends got into another argument. Draco Malfoy was a pointy, unattractive git, even with a rose that matched his hair.

**II**

In between Harry's near-constant observation of Malfoy, which lead him to conclude that Malfoy liked to take long walks around the school and school grounds, eat toast with raspberry jam, and stay locked in the Room of Requirement for hours every weekend, he also found time to study Voldemort's past with the Headmaster. After Dumbledore had ignored him during his fifth year, Harry was glad to be on good terms with his Headmaster again. He even enjoyed their studies, even though they didn't study spells or defenses like he would have been keen on. And it was on one of these meetings, only a few days after Aragog's funeral, that Harry received another piece of bad news: Voldemort had struck the Order's headquarters.

"But they were under _Fidelius_," he said, grasping for straws. The Fidelius Charm was the most powerful secrecy spell he knew of. Harry was shaken after hearing the news, and Dumbledore looked outwardly worried as well. To hear that Voldemort had broken it was devastating. If he could break a spell as powerful as _Fidelius_, who knew what kinds of spells he could break next? Could he break the wards around Hogwarts, or Harry's mother's protection? "How could he even get in?"

"The spell wasn't broken," Dumbledore answered with a sigh. He sipped at his tea for a long moment, as if unsure of what he was saying. "It seems that one of our own members was compromised. Nothing was taken, that we're aware of, but your house-elf Kreature was found dead inside the house."

"It was Snape," Harry said quickly. "You know he's been working for Voldemort all along, and trying to help Malfoy, and—" He stopped there, because like always, Dumbledore wouldn't listen to him. He wouldn't listen to how treacherous and cruel and evil Snape was. And now because of Snape, Sirius' house couldn't be used as a safe house, and Harry wouldn't be able to go back there just in case something _had_ been done to it. Snape would've even done it gleefully, just to get back at Sirius one last time.

"Severus could not have showed the way to Voldemort. He was bound by the Fidelius Charm as strongly as you were. He is loyal to the cause, just as any member of the Order of the Phoenix. I wish you would keep that in mind, my boy," Dumbledore replied. Harry noticed he didn't say what Snape had been doing when the house was attacked, or give him any proof of his innocence. Dumbledore just expected Harry to trust him in this as in everything else, but Harry couldn't do that. He refused to just blindly trust a man who hated him and betrayed his parents, just because Dumbledore believed he still had some good in him.

_Loyal to the cause, my arse. Maybe to Voldemort's cause, but not mine, _he thought, but knew better than to say it. He didn't want to be lectured on how he should change his mind about Snape.

"What happened to Kreature?" Harry asked instead.

Dumbledore's face gentled, and Harry tried to keep from scowling. So what if he'd decided to be mature about Snape and not keep trying to disparage him. But he also felt oddly pleased, that Dumbledore noticed he was trying to grow up. Never mind all the things Dumbledore wouldn't tell him – he cared about the Headmaster's opinion more than anyone else's.

"I believe it was the Killing Curse," Dumbledore replied. They both resolutely didn't mention that this was another person — or nearly a person — Harry knew who had fallen to that curse. He wondered if Kreature's last moments had been anything like his parents'. If he had cursed Voldemort, or Snape, or whoever had killed him, or if he had begged for mercy. "His death was fast, and without torture."

Unless he had been healed. But no one would go through so much effort. They wouldn't even need to. Kreature was always happy to betray him. Harry couldn't say he grieved for the house elf that had ratted Sirius out to the other side, but he was still saddened by his death. Kreature was one of the few ties to Sirius he had left, even if Kreature had been an unwilling tie.

While Harry thought, Dumbledore added, "The house appears to have been searched for something. I do not know if the object or the information they were looking for was found, but the house has been compromised. We won't use it as a safe house any longer."

Harry nodded. It made sense. Sirius would've been happy they were finally moving out of the wretched place. "I guess you're using the Burrow now? Is that safe for the Weasleys?"

"Not quite. We're meeting at Shell Cottage, an unused home formerly belonging to Delphine Weasley, Arthur's paternal aunt. It fits us better, and lets us infringe on the Weasleys' kindness without putting them out of their home."

Dumbledore carefully lifted the Pensieve from its shelf once again, along with a familiar stoppered vial. "And now, Harry, I will show you one last memory before I ask you to join me in the search for a horcrux. I had wished to wait, but there is no time. If Voldemort attacked the Headquarters, he may have uncovered information on one of the horcrux locations. We will go after it tonight."

**III**

Harry left Dumbledore's office with a heavy heart, feeling both delirious with expectation of that night and sick with worry for the future. Although Dumbledore had seemed only mildly perturbed at their meeting, Harry knew that behind his calm manner was worry that they would not get to the horcrux in time. That was why they were going that very night instead of later, after Dumbledore had more time to plan. He was also grateful that Dumbledore had kept his promise to bring Harry to uncover the horcrux. If something went wrong, Dumbledore would have at least one loyal wizard (even if Harry was still young and half-trained and didn't know as many complex spells as an older wizard would) with him.

Since he had no time to do anything tonight, Harry decided to hold off on asking Hermione to research the Fidelius Charm more thoroughly. He had to meet Dumbledore in two hours, which meant he had time to put on something warm, dig up his invisibility cloak (not hard, since he frequently had it in his pocket or schoolbag), and check up on Malfoy. So like most days, he followed a winding staircase to the Room of Requirement.

Though this time, Malfoy was coming down the staircase as Harry walked up. Harry wished he had put on his invisibility cloak first — that way he could easily follow Malfoy to wherever he was going now, instead of having to scan his map and double back.

Malfoy looked the same as he ever did: his black school robes perfectly pressed, his hair gelled down neatly, the rest of his body a total wreck. He'd noticeably given up using a glamour on himself. Dark circles had taken over his eyes, his face was a blotchy mess of reds and whites, and his robes hung off his too-thin frame. In all, he looked like a walking mess.

Harry knew Malfoy's mission, whatever it was, wasn't going as planned. If it was, he would be gloating and bragging and acting like he owned the world – not becoming paler and more withdrawn each day.

And he was holding the gaudiest crown Harry had ever seen. He held it between the fingers of his left hand, careful and wary at the same time. Harry would have done the same – the crown looked like it could infect you with ugly. Maybe it was the result of a messed up spell of Crabbe's or Goyle's.

"Making a present for your master?" Harry asked, almost imitating Malfoy's sneer. The snot barely glanced at him, which was weird. Usually Harry got some sort of angry response from his rival.

"Go to hell, Potter," Malfoy tonelessly replied, brushing past him.

Harry watched him leave, then returned to the Gryffindor tower and followed Malfoy's movements with the map until he had to meet Dumbledore. All Malfoy did was stop by the Slytherin common room and take a long, looping walk around the castle.

**IV**

Three hours later, Harry stumbled into an alley between The Three Broomsticks and Whiteman's Roses as he silently prayed that Dumbledore wasn't dying. He _couldn't_ die, couldn't die just for a horcrux no matter how important it was. But when Harry apparated into the alley, he was immediately assaulted by the noise in the streets of Hogsmeade. There was shouting all around them, the sound of battle and spellcasting. Above him was a bright green symbol of a skull with a snake crawling out; they had raised the Dark Mark over the village.

From what Harry could see from their hiding spot, there was a whole mass of Death Eaters attacking the village. He could see Madam Rosmerta across from the alley, being Crucio'd by a masked Death Eater. He was about to run and help her, but in a pause between the Death Eater's spells, she struck, stunning him and binding his body.

"Professor!" he whispered as loud as he dared. "What do we do?" They wouldn't be able to get to Honeyduke's or the Haunted Shack without being attacked, and they had no other means of transportation.

Dumbledore focused his watery eyes on the scene. He still looked like he was just barely hanging on to consciousness, but Harry was glad for any evidence that showed Dumbledore was still alive. If only Madam Pomfrey were with them… Hell, he'd even take Snape, and be civil to him, if he would just help Dumbledore through this. "Harry, do you remember the path to the village? There is an elm tree on the road. The wards start just beyond it. Imagine appearing before it. Hurry, they may be attacking Hogwarts as we speak."

In a moment they were at the tree, away from the fighting at Hogsmeade. Harry could still hear fighting in the distance, could still hear screams and shouting. He wanted to help badly, but if Hogsmeade was that bad, Hogwarts could be even worse. The castle seemed calm at a distance, but Voldemort could already be inside. There was no Dark Mark over the castle, unlike the one over the Three Broomsticks.

Half-supporting each other, they raced to the castle, coming within a few meters of the front steps when a pale, half-translucent white barrier rose from beneath the ground and rose high above their heads. It shimmered in the air as it closed around the entire castle in the largest half-circle Harry had ever seen. Then, after encircling the entire castle, the barrier disappeared as quickly as it had risen, leaving no trace of it being there at all.

Harry reached out to touch the place where it had been, wondering if he could go through it, but Dumbledore held him back.

"Wait for now," Dumbledore cautioned, pulling out his wand.

"But—" _my friends are inside. They could be being tortured or dying, or…_

"Your promise, Harry," Dumbledore reminded him, then tapped his wand against the barrier. Light red runes appeared in the air, spreading from the point his wand touched to farther than Harry could see, wrapping around Hogwarts like the barrier had. Whatever Dumbledore had done had caused the barrier to show itself. Harry tried not to worry about how much Dumbledore's hand shook or how he was still supporting his mentor. He concentrated on the fact that he couldn't hear anything inside the castle. He didn't see the flash of spells or faces in the windows. The castle was quiet, unharmed.

But with the way Dumbledore's face instantly paled at seeing the runes, Harry knew it couldn't be that easy.

"What is it, sir?" Harry asked anxiously. "Can we go through?"

"We cannot. This—this is a killing rune over the entire castle. Harry, stay here. Whatever happens, do not let my wand leave the barrier." He kept his wand to the barrier, chanting in a language Harry didn't understand, but that didn't matter because Ron and Hermione and everyone in the castle was going to die. In their beds, asleep, because Voldemort was a coward and had put up a killing rune instead of going after them himself. Harry hadn't even known wizards could do such a thing. Voldemort must have somehow altered Hogwarts' ward, or found a loophole that let him do something like this.

"Elves!" Dumbledore suddenly called, and nearly a hundred elves appeared at once. For a moment Harry could see them, the shimmering, translucent shackles that bound the house elves to Hogwarts. Either he was delirious from the effort of supporting Dumbledore, or Dumbledore's chanting was powerful enough to reveal any and all magic in the area. "Put every person in the building in their beds, if they aren't already. Nothing sharp must be around them."

"What are you going to do, professor?" Harry asked.

"I can change the ward. A sleeping ward, or a coma ward — they only require a small change in the runes." By the end of his sentence, his voice started to waver. "Hold up my hand."

Harry did, and continued to hold it up as the runes on the barrier started turning darker. Harry had never seen Dumbledore struggling with magic so much that beads of sweat ran down his face. Dumbledore ignored his offer of help when Harry asked if there was anything else he could do. Harry wasn't sure he even heard him.

"Potter!" a voice yelled. Harry looked up and saw that beyond the runes, Draco Malfoy was running towards them.

_Not now_, Harry thought. _What was Draco Malfoy doing out here?_

He twisted, trying to get to his wand, but it was no use. He couldn't hold up Dumbledore and protect them at the same time. It was either their lives or the lives of everyone in the castle, and Harry knew without a doubt what Dumbledore would want him to do. Harry would never be able to live with himself if Ron and Hermione died in there.

But if Malfoy was going to kill them, he was taking his sweet time with it. He stopped outside the barrier just across from them. He bent down, resting his palms on his knees and breathing heavily, catching his breath from what Harry guessed was a long sprint from the Slytherin dungeons. Why had he come outside? It was past midnight. By all logic, Malfoy should've been asleep in his bed, unable to go out because of Snape's nightly patrols.

Unless Snape was one of the Death Eaters out in Hogsmeade.

Through his pants for breath, Malfoy said, "I can help you, Potter. The Dark Lord—he—I want to join the other side."

Harry stared at him blankly. "What kind of idiot do you think I am?" Did Malfoy really believe he'd fall for this? "You're a bloody Death Eater. This is just a trap. You're spying for Voldemort, or your father, or whoever."

In his arms, Dumbledore's body lagged. His chanting, already broken and quiet, turned to a whisper. Harry couldn't breathe. Dumbledore was going to die. Dumbledore, or the entire castle. Maybe even both. And he couldn't do a thing.

"Dammit, Potter, for once your life just say yes. You don't have to do anything."

Malfoy was probably going to die anyway. Or fall into a coma, or a deep sleep. He was on the other side of the barrier. And Harry needed help desperately right then. If Malfoy was going to shoot the Killing Curse at them or call in Voldemort, he would've done it already.

Malfoy looked more sincere than Harry had ever seen him, and was nearly begging, while Dumbledore was almost dead. Harry gave in. "Fine. What do I have to do?"

"Just agree."

"I agree. But if you're doing this just to kill me along with Dumbledore, I will Stun you so hard you'll never wake up again." Agreeing to Malfoy's help certainly wouldn't make Harry trust him.

Malfoy began to say something, but choked on his words. His hands flew to his throat, massaging it, while his wide gray eyes locked with Harry's. Harry almost instinctively reached out to help him, like he would for anyone else, but he remembered Dumbledore's words in time. In the back of his mind, it registered that Dumbledore had stopped chanting completely.

Harry watched Malfoy gulp in fear, watched his eyes close and his body fall over in place, watched his body be caught by a quickly appearing house-elf. He imagined Ron and Hermione doing the same in the tower. They'd probably stayed up late just to make sure he got back okay. It looked like he wouldn't get back to Hogwarts tonight. Or maybe ever.

The runes had stopped darkening, staying a dark red color. Dumbledore's wand dropped from his hand, and his entire body crumpled like Malfoy's had only a moment before. Harry dropped down on his knees and rested Dumbledore's head on his lap.

"It's done. They are asleep. Stable," Dumbledore said in a raspy voice. His eyes were closed. He wasn't even trying to open them.

"Sir, don't talk, I'll get help," Harry told him. He was starting to tremble himself. Where was Dumbledore's wand? It had fallen somewhere, but Harry couldn't see it. Couldn't see anything except Dumbledore laying there, barely moving.

"Harry—the horcruxes. There are only four more. The locket, the snake, two others… And—"

His voice dropped to a whisper, lower than Harry could hear. Harry didn't know if that was because Dumbledore's voice had faded, or if the pounding in his ears had grown too loud.

"Professor," Harry said, his voice strangled. Or maybe he'd said something else. He didn't know.

He took Dumbledore's wrist and felt for a pulse. For a moment, he thought he felt Dumbledore's heartbeat, but it was only his shaking hands. There were tears in his eyes when he finally realized Dumbledore was dead.

Harry looked back at the barrier, thinking stupid thoughts of running across to find his friends. What did it matter now that Dumbledore was dead? Harry had escaped death so many times. Maybe he'd do it once more. Maybe his mother's lingering protection would shield him from the runes.

It was only because he was looking so closely that he noticed the ground start to move. Just in front of the barrier, the Hogwarts lawn spread open, blades of grass growing taller. The grass thickened, became vine-like, and grew until it was a few centimeters wide. Then, as though the barrier was solid to it, it wrapped around the barrier and grew toward the sky building over the barrier.

In mere minutes, Hogwarts had been covered completely by the vines, which had quickly developed large thorns and small, white flowers. A green dome had formed over Hogwarts. Then the vines grew large thorns, and small flowers, and weaved closer and closer together until Harry couldn't see even a little of Hogwarts. The place that Harry called home was engulfed completely.

Harry sat there, unmoving, until he heard voices. Spurred into action, he draped the invisibility cloak over himself and Dumbledore — Dumbledore's still, unmoving body, he thought with a silent sob — and listened to what the newcomers were saying.

"It is done. My lord will be pleased," Bellatrix Lestrange — he would know her voice even in the dark — said.

"My son — he fulfilled his duty?"

"More than that, Lucius. Let us go."

The pair apparated away.

When he was sure they left, Harry picked up Dumbledore's body and wand and carried them along the path to Hogsmeade, on the same stones he and Dumbledore had walked only just a little while ago. He couldn't stay here. He couldn't allow the Death Eaters to find Dumbledore's body or to find him.

He couldn't even use magic to lift Dumbledore's body properly. He didn't want the ministry after him for underage magic use as well as the death eaters. Not to mention who knew who was watching his ministry file.

He knew that there were ways to trace apparition — spells to follow his magical signature, although he didn't think the ministry trace registered apparition — so, hidden under the cloak, he apparated to the steps of a London museum, then to a small café, then his old primary school. He couldn't go to the Weasleys, not yet, or the Dursleys at all. There could be Death Eaters watching the Burrow, and the Dursleys would slam the door in his face when they saw Dumbledore's body. Finally he appeared in the Forest of Dean, where the Dursleys had gone camping once, and walked a long distance away from where he'd appeared.

Harry laid Dumbledore on the ground, covered him with his cloak, and collapsed a fair distance away. He didn't even have the energy to start a fire.

It wasn't fair for Dumbledore to lay there, unwept by the majority of the nation. Harry couldn't even give him a proper burial. He couldn't dig through the cold ground without a shovel, and couldn't get a shovel one without magic or money. He was _useless _at the moment. All he could do was rest his head on the ground and swear to himself that Dumbledore's sacrifice had not been in vain.

**V**

He slept restlessly, waking up many times expecting the comfort of the Gryffindor tower, only to find the silver thread of his invisibility cloak and the person it covered and tear up again. By morning, he had no tears left to cry. It wasn't fair that he was the only one crying — everyone should cry for such a great man's death — but he couldn't do anything about that. Not yet. He finally fell into a deeper sleep in the early morning, the faint sunlight on his eyelids making him think of the Gryffindor common room.

In his dream, he was in the common room again, standing beside Ron and Hermione and drinking butterbeer after winning a Quidditch game. Ron and Hermione were there with him, laughing about something. They were all on good terms again. Ginny was sitting nearby, quietly reading one of her textbooks. Dumbledore was up in the castle somewhere, alive and whole. Harry couldn't imagine being in a better place.

"This is exactly what I thought you dreamt of, Potter," a familiar voice sneered. It felt wrong in his happy, comfortable dream.

Harry didn't turn around, wanting to go back to how things were, but Ron and Hermione and the rest of the partying Gryffindors stood frozen. The only moving person was someone who Harry didn't want to dream about.

"Get out of my dream, Malfoy," he said, unable to muster the energy to really yell at Malfoy like he deserved. He was just tired. Tired of people dying, tired of not having his friends nearby. Tired of Malfoy.

With a snort, Malfoy snapped his fingers and all the other dream-figures in the room disappeared. "Gryffindors make me itch," he said in explanation, taking his friends' place on the couch as though he didn't have a care in the world. Looking more closely, Harry noticed that Malfoy looked a lot more like he had last year: more filled out, less pale.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked. If this was really Malfoy (and it had to be, because Harry didn't dream about evil Slytherin gits), he looked very awake for someone stuck inside Hogwarts.

"You agreed, remember? That I could help you. Well, you were agreeing to this. I'm going to be asleep until you, or someone more reliable, is able to wake me up again. I might as well use the time well." The bastard even looked a bit smug at finding a loophole that got him out of Hogwarts, even if it was just into someone else's dreams.

Harry clenched his fists, trying to keep himself from punching Malfoy. As much as he wanted to punch him, he needed to know what he was after. And how he was here in the first place, provided Harry's grief-stricken mind hadn't dreamt him up. "Use your time well? While everyone I know is stuck there, dying?"

"Don't be so melodramatic, Potter," Malfoy said with a wave. Then, as he caught Harry's utterly un-amused expression, he sat up, and even moved over so that he wasn't in the place Hermione and Ron had been sitting seconds ago. "Dumbledore stopped it, didn't he? He stopped it from happening."

Malfoy didn't know, Harry realized. He didn't know if his Slytherin friends were dead or asleep. Harry had the upper hand. "Did you know? Did you know he was planning to kill everyone in the castle?" Because if Malfoy had known, and still did nothing… Harry didn't know what he'd do. He'd always thought only Voldemort deserved death, but someone who had sentenced little innocent first years to death wasn't much better.

"No!" Malfoy yelled. He even sounded honest. "Potter, I'm not some sort of sick monster. I didn't know."

"You weren't putting those runes up when you walked around the grounds? Or when you spent all that time in the Room of Requirement?" Harry asked skeptically. There was a chance Malfoy was innocent, but there was an even bigger chance that he was trying to trick Harry into believing him. "Everyone was going to die. Everyone. All Dumbledore could do was make then fall asleep instead of dying, and he gave up his life for it." And now, none of his friends would ever wake up unless Harry found a way to help them.

"I was smuggling objects into the school," Malfoy admitted. "And I hid them in places. That's all. I swear on my life, Potter, that's all I did."

"You were still working for Voldemort. And you're a Death Eater," Harry said. He knew it, now, with the way Malfoy paled and jerked away. But the satisfaction of knowing he'd been right wasn't there. His friends had been in danger of dying, and Malfoy was the one who'd caused it. That killing ward didn't come out of nowhere, and neither did that spell with the vines.

"The Dark Lord was going to kill my family! I had no choice!"

"Then damn your family. There are hundreds of innocent children inside Hogwarts—"

"I didn't know, I thought it was just a barrier spell! And the portkeys, I gave them to everyone I knew. Especially the kids," he added. "They didn't work. I ran out as soon as I realized they wouldn't work. I wasn't going to be a prisoner."

The white roses, Harry realized. They'd been portkeys out of the castle. No wonder those who had them had worn them constantly. But it seemed like they had been no help in the end. Harry wondered if they had really malfunctioned, or if Voldemort was just mad enough to kill off his follower's children as well as the Order's kids. Maybe he'd thought his follower's kids were liabilities in the war.

"You were just going to let all the rest of us suffer," Harry said in disbelief. He couldn't believe someone would be that depraved, that he'd just doom them all. Even Malfoy. "Fuck you, Malfoy. I don't need your help."

Malfoy sneered and drew back. "Fine. Enjoy life on the run, Potter." He disappeared without a sound, and the denizens of Gryffindor tower reappeared, but Harry make himself forget about the world outside the dream anymore. Nor could he forget the real panic he'd seen on Malfoy's face that night on the Hogwarts grounds.

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Feel free to leave a review! I'd love to know what you think of the story so far.


	2. Chapter 2

**VI**

Dumbledore's body was still there in the daylight. It hadn't vanished like an awful nightmare, or changed in any way. Harry kneeled next to it, unable to move, to even breathe. He'd always had Dumbledore to guide him when he messed up, to help him through the battles against Voldemort. And when Dumbledore hadn't been there, there was always the certainty that he could still find him and ask for help, one way or another. And now… it felt like the only lifeline he had was gone. There wasn't anything he could do. He had no plans, no goals, no resources. Nothing.

Before grief could overtake him again, Harry remembered that he couldn't just leave Dumbledore there. And neither could he stay next to him forever. He needed to at least bury Dumbledore. After that, he could somehow wrestle the strength to save Hogwarts.

He just had to take it one step at a time.

Harry left Dumbledore's body there, covered by his regular cloak, and decided to apparate to the Weasley's house under his invisibility cloak. He was more certain of his ability to apparate now, and convinced that there wouldn't be Death Eater's skulking around the Burrow. Last night, they could have been there under the cover of darkness, but in the daylight, Mrs. Weasley would have seen them and forced them out.

Mr. Weasley would no doubt have a shovel somewhere and would know the proper rites of burial. Harry had never even gone to a funeral before. He had no idea what Dumbledore would have even wanted – maybe his mentor would have preferred cremation, like his phoenix familiar. He knew Dumbledore would have wanted the Weasleys at his funeral, though. They could even summon the Order and have a proper gathering. Kingsley would say the Order oath, Mrs. Weasley would cry, and the twins would set off some discrete fireworks. Then they would actually plan the rescue of Hogwarts.

He apparated down the street from the Weasley's, far enough that if there was someone there, they probably wouldn't have heard his pop of air displacement. He knew almost immediately that something was wrong, when he didn't see the roof and top floors of the Burrow in the distance.

Harry's heart skipped a beat.

_No. No – they couldn't have – no –_

But when he ran down the street and onto the Weasley's property, the Burrow was only a pile of ashes. Harry saw a few things still recognizable in the rubble — Mrs. Weasley's clock, half melted and charred, all hands on mortal peril; Mr. Weasley's car tools in the place where the shed used to be — but everything else was too blackened to tell what it had been. Even the chicken coop had been burned down.

Harry didn't see any bodies, but that didn't mean they weren't there. Cold shivers ran down his spine. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley couldn't be dead. Harry had only just seen them that summer, not so long ago. They couldn't be dead already. Not when Dumbledore had just died hours ago.

Harry was glad he couldn't yell out in anger, because there were two Death Eaters (or so he guessed) patrolling the area. Their Disillusionment Charms were sloppy. He could see bits of their silver masks as they turned.

His wand was in his hand and he had the element of surprise. He could Stun them now. Interrogate them. Make them pay for hurting the Weasleys. But that wouldn't help anything, he knew. He could stun them, tie them up—and then what? He had no Veritaserum. He couldn't torture them, or leave them to die. He had too many morals and too few resources and too many dead bodies in the Forest of Dean already.

There was no sign of where the Weasleys could have gone, or if they were even alive, so Harry apparated away, ignoring the yells he heard after his loud pop.

**VII**

Within moments, he was in Surrey, a town he'd hoped to never see again. Harry appeared a block from the Dursleys house, and waited for a few tense moments in case someone had tracked his apparition. He didn't think he'd given the two Death Eaters enough time to put a spell on him, but he wasn't sure. It had been sloppy, apparating right in front of them, but Harry hadn't been able to bare seeing the ruins of the Burrow for another second more. Next time, he'd have to be more careful.

He slowly passed by parents with strollers and young children out in their yards. It was midday on an oddly warm spring day, and everyone was enjoying the warmth. No one noticed him under his cloak.

The Dursleys were all out of the house on weekday afternoons. Uncle Vernon had work, Aunt Petunia had a few hours of volunteering at an animal shelter, Dudley was away at school, and the lock on the kitchen window never worked properly. Hidden under his invisibility cloak, Harry edged it open and climbed through, almost hitting his head on the faucet. It was a lot harder to get through than the last time he'd done this, when he was eight years old.

With the racket he was making, Harry was glad everyone was out. Aunt Petunia would go after him with an iron skillet if she saw the mess his muddy shoes were making in her precious kitchen.

Harry stopped at the garage, first, and grabbed a shovel. He set it by the door. He'd bring the shovel back in a few days, before his relatives even noticed it was gone. He would've rather bought a shovel than used the Dursley's one, but he only had wizarding money, and he wasn't sure if it was safe to go to Diagon Alley. And he couldn't use his wand, since he knew having the ministry after him was little better than having Voldemort on his tail. Still, it felt wrong to have to rely on the Dursleys for anything. They were family, but they hated him, and stealing from them wasn't going to help their relationship. Hating himself even more, Harry grabbed a few bills from the table and some food from the refrigerator. If Diagon Alley wasn't safe, he needed some way of feeding himself. He'd make it up to them someday.

He hoped for their sakes that Voldemort didn't realize that he hadn't been in Hogwarts when the barrier went up. Because if Voldemort knew he hadn't been inside, then the first thing he'd do is put Death Eaters in the places Harry would go. The Burrow, Grimmauld Place, Gringotts… And this house, if he found out where it was.

Harry opened the drawer in the table by the door, where Aunt Petunia always kept a pen and paper for the grocery list. He wrote:

_There's trouble in my world. Go on a vacation for a while, or at least __be careful__. _

He underlined the last words thrice, and didn't bother signing the note. His relatives would know who it was from. Hopefully, they would heed his message. But otherwise, their well-being was their own. Harry refused to worry about them after the way they treated him the entire time he'd lived with them.

He left the house unlocked after leaving through the front door (Aunt Petunia would no doubt be back soon, and Privet Drive hadn't had a robbery in years) and apparated back to the forest. In the light of day, the site he'd chosen to rest at felt too open. There was a clearing for tents, a table, and a paved road for cars. But it did look out toward the river, and when Harry apparated closer to it, the forest seemed like it had been undisturbed for a long time.

He dug until he couldn't anymore, lay Dumbledore inside, and covered him with dirt through his tears. He marked the grave with Dumbledore's wand and told himself that when this was all over, Dumbledore would get a proper burial. Standing over Dumbledore's grave, Harry promised himself that he would avenge his mentor one day, even if it meant his life. He would kill Voldemort, save the castle… do what Dumbledore would have wanted him to do. He owed his teacher that much and more.

Then, unable to look at the grave any longer, he apparated back to his old campsite, lit a fire, and rested against a tree. For hours he scrambled his brain for something he could do, for a plan that could fix everything again. There were no words for how much he missed his friends right then.

**VIII**

When he fell asleep again, he was glad that Malfoy didn't appear in his dream. Instead, he dreamed of a Weasley Christmas, sitting with Ron on the steps of their house, Hermione across from them. She was talking animatedly about something or other, too focused on magical theory to tell he and Ron had stopped listening a while ago. God, he needed them. Ron would help him through this, and Hermione could've figured out how to get inside by now.

He closed his eyes, savoring the sounds of his two best friends, the bustle inside the Burrow, the Quidditch game on the other side of the yard.

"Disturbingly domestic, Potter."

Harry's eyes snapped back open, and like a switch had been lifted, all the noise turned off. Hermione and Ron disappeared again.

"Bring them back, Malfoy," he growled.

"Need your friends to fight your battles for you?" Malfoy asked with a humorless laugh. "I didn't erase them. You did."

"What?" Harry was pretty sure he hadn't done anything like that.

"It's your dream. I can change it a bit, but in the end it's your choice what happens," Malfoy explained.

Harry imagined Malfoy in a pink tutu. As though he knew what Harry was doing, Malfoy smirked and added, "To an extent, of course."

"Of course." He glanced back inside the Burrow, but the house had gone dark, silent. It figured. Harry didn't try to bring them back again. "What do you want?"

"To help you."

"Should've thought about that before you sentenced hundreds of kids to death."

"I want to make it right. Not that you'd understand anything about that. Goody-two-shoes Potter. Golden boy. _You_ never make mistakes."

Harry stood up, hating having to look up at Malfoy from his seat. "My mistake was letting you into my head. And not trying harder to get Dumbledore to see what you were doing."

"Yeah, well, boo hoo. We all screw up sometimes. It's not like I killed your precious Dumbledore. Let me help you."

"Fine," Harry muttered, just to shut him up. He glared out into the Weasley's yard.

"Great. I need to see what it looks like, the barrier."

Malfoy waited patiently.

Harry stared back. "What?"

"Bloody hell, you're an idiot. Should I spell it out to you like to a child? We're in your dream. You can do anything here. Make this spectacle—" he waved his hand around the area "—into what you saw that day." It looked like even when Malfoy was trying to convince Harry to get along with him, he couldn't help insulting him.

Gritting his teeth, Harry did. If getting his friends out of Hogwarts meant working with a Slytherin, he would do it. That didn't mean he had to like it.

**IX**

He woke up again without them achieving any progress, although Malfoy had hummed a lot and asked more questions than Harry could answer. It was early morning, judging by the light. Harry stared up at the canopy of trees, thinking back to when he and Ron had taken Mr. Weasley's car to Hogwarts in their second year. He'd been terrified at the time, but it was still a great memory. Him and Ron, the bright blue skies, total freedom… All because of Dobby's help.

_Dobby's help. _

Dobby.

"Dobby! Winky!" Harry called, his heart beating quickly with hope, but the two house-elves didn't come. They must've been caught in the spell like everyone else in Hogwarts. Harry had thought that Dobby might've been out, maybe buying himself some more knitted socks or something, but it seemed he had no one at all that could help him now.

Except Malfoy, who was neither friendly nor able to talk to him during the day, but was an ally all the same.

Harry took an inventory of all he had. One wand. Two if he counted Dumbledore's wand, which he wouldn't make himself touch if Voldemort himself were after him. He couldn't even look at the grave again, not yet. It was all still almost too much.

A few Sickles and a Galleon he'd found at the bottom of his robe pockets. One change of clothes. One ally he was in touch with, plus the Order of the Phoenix if he could only get in contact with them. Hedwig was in the castle, but he could rent an owl. Countless Galleons in his vault at Gringotts. Some muggle money. A shovel. The locket.

Harry reached into his robe's pocket for the locket that Dumbledore lost his life for. It was heavy, ornate, but different than the one he'd seen in the Pensieve. Harry hoped that it was just because of a difference in the lighting.

After reading the letter from R.A.B., Harry rubbed at his dry eyes, wishing to God for the chance to go back and change things. Dumbledore didn't deserve to die like this, for a locket that wasn't even a horcrux. But he couldn't grieve, not yet, not when he had to avenge Dumbledore's death. Not when Ron and Hermione were still captive inside Hogwarts. He had work to do.

Harry ate at a muggle fast food place, not caring for once about the ratty, dirty clothing he wore. Afterwards, he apparated outside the Leaky Cauldron, staying close the wall as he carefully entered Tom's pub. He still wasn't sure if Diagon Alley was safe, but he needed to do something. The Leaky Cauldron would tell him what was happening, if he eavesdropped long enough. Not to mention, he didn't know if it was possible to apparate straight inside Diagon Alley. And if it was, there wasn't much room for him to apparate blindly.

Inside, he noticed that conversation was on two topics: the impenetrable wall around Hogwarts, and the takeover of the upper levels of Gringotts by You-Know-Who's troops. He'd always thought Gringotts was impenetrable, but if Voldemort had been able to break into the bank, he'd been able to overcome their defenses this time.

The man had been busy two days ago, Harry learned. While a few of his Death Eaters had attacked Hogwarts and Hogsmeade, the rest had stormed Gringotts, locked it down, and kidnapped all the goblins they could find. The rest, Harry read from a stolen newspaper, had locked down the lower levels of Gringotts and would not let any Death Eaters through. Neither Death Eaters nor any other British vault-holder would be able to get their money now.

He also found out that the barrier was impenetrable to everyone who'd tried. It absorbed magic into itself and attacks only got people killed. The body count from the thorns was up to four, while the many people hurt in the takeover of Gringotts still hadn't been counted.

Harry took the newspaper with him and exited the pub, following a group of people through the doorway to Diagon Alley. There was little point in visiting Gringotts now, but he could still do some other things, like check on the twins' joke shop.

Seeing the shop full of people as usual made Harry grin, even if he couldn't see why they weren't at home, away from Gringotts and Voldemort's people. Maybe they thought that as purebloods, they would be safe.

Harry slipped inside, past the crowds of people and behind the counter, stopping next to the twin's shopkeeper, Verity.

"Psst, Verity," he whispered.

She jumped, looking around. "Who's there?"

"A friend of Fred and George's. I need to see them."

She shook her head. "They're with their parents, I don't know where. I'm sorry I can't help."

"It's fine," Harry told her. "Can I write a message for them?"

She pointed to a sheet of paper, and Harry scribbled down a few words.

_Sunday, eleven p.m., outside the one-eyed witch. _

_I solemnly swear, _

_Your secret investor_

Verity glanced down at the paper. "All this for a business meeting?" she asked.

"We live in troubled times," Harry replied, and left the store.

**X**

That night, he fell asleep faster, and found himself in the same spot he'd left off, with Malfoy still examining the wall.

"Well?" Harry asked, irritated with Malfoy once again. The guy refused to tell Harry what he'd found until he was completely sure of his findings, unlike Hermione, who always talked while she worked.

Malfoy didn't even look up in response. "I'm not awake when you're not asleep. I need time to figure things out. It's not like I spent the day thinking. Go sleep or something for a bit."

"Bloody hell, you're high-maintenance," Harry muttered, making himself a couch and lying down. Malfoy was irritating and bratty, but he was one thing that never changed. Harry could almost thank him for it. He told Malfoy about what the newspaper had said about the barrier, along with what had been happening in the Alley. Malfoy didn't respond smugly at all when he told him about Gringotts.

A little while later, after Harry had run out of things to say and had played three games of very lifelike Exploding Snape, Malfoy finally emerged from his thoughts.

"Put that puerile rubbish away," he ordered, sitting onto the edge of a dark red couch as if it would infect him with valor and bravery. "I think we're dealing with an old spell combined with a killing ward. By old, I mean it hasn't been used in the last few centuries, at least. The last record of it was when Hogwarts was besieged by goblins during the Goblin Wars."

"Hogwarts was besieged?"

"Don't you pay attention to Binns? Ever?"

"I don't think you're human," Harry muttered. Even Hermione had stopped trying to listen to Binns.

"He's actually quite humorous when he gets into a lecture," Malfoy said smartly. "Hogwarts was besieged. By goblins. They were our enemies, you know, in the Goblin Wars. Well, maybe not _your_ enemies, considering you're half-muggle—"

"A quarter, my mom was muggleborn, as you already know—"

"Even worse. They dubbed it 'the Siege Spell' in our textbooks. It's a spell, not a transfiguration; those are actual briars growing in a circular formation. They're magical, and can't be gotten rid of from the inside. In fact, nothing can get in or out with the spell. Hogwarts is, in essence, locked down."

"So how do we get them down?" Harry asked, thinking Malfoy sounded awfully like Hermione. And glad that one of them knew what he was doing.

"I don't know," Malfoy admitted.

"That was so helpful. Thanks, Malfoy, for all your help."

"Blow me, Potter. It isn't a normal Siege Spell. I only recognized it because it's supposed to look like a barrier of shrubbery. But it's supposed to be held up by three wizards standing outside the barrier constantly, and thirteen wizards to put the spell in place. None of that is true for the spell around Hogwarts. Even _you_ would have noticed people around you that day. And it isn't even the siege spell you should be concerned about, it's the sleeping runes. Even if you break the siege spell, you'll just fall asleep trying to get in."

"Great." That wasn't anywhere near helpful or uplifting, even if Harry now realized Malfoy deserved all his high marks in school. What was he supposed to do now?

"Do you know anyone who knows about wards? Someone who won't reveal you to the Dark Lord?"

Harry thought for a moment, then said, "Bill Weasley, maybe. He's a curse-breaker."

"That's not the same, but it's a start. Where is he?"

"I—" Harry didn't know. Not in Egypt, definitely. He and Fleur had been staying with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley when Harry had visited, and been planning their wedding there. "He used to live in the Burrow, but they've moved somewhere. To Shell Cottage, maybe. That was supposed to be the new Headquarters of—"

Harry stopped. He couldn't believe he'd almost mentioned the Order of the Phoenix to Malfoy, a Death Eater.

"Of what?"

"You're a Death Eater. I'm not going to tell you."

Malfoy snorted. "Since I'm going to run off and tell the Dark Lord everything you say. I'm _stuck_, Pothead. I can't do anything from inside the castle."

"Who else can you talk to?" Harry asked curiously. If Malfoy could get in contact with other people, he could use his connection to find the Weasleys… or betray him to Voldemort.

"No one, that's why I'm stuck with you all the time. I need permission to do this, and not that many people are stupid enough to say yes to someone getting in their heads."

"Alright," Harry said. Malfoy sounded believable. But that didn't mean he was going to tell him what the Order was.

"What else is going on outside?" Malfoy asked after a while.

"The Burrow—the Weasley's house was burned down. If you say anything about it, I will see if it's possible to kill you in a dream."

Malfoy didn't say anything, and they sat together in quiet misery, thinking about their lost families.

**XI**

Hogwarts: A History might have been the most boring textbook in history, but Harry still scoured it for information on the Goblin Wars. The author was unfortunately less detailed than he'd hoped, and her writing style made him want to fall asleep. Dryness must've been a quality all history geeks had, Harry thought.

He chanced renting three owls at Eeylops Owl Emporium, coming into the store in a hastily bought muggle hat that covered his scar, and no glasses. He couldn't see anything, but he knew his glasses were distinct enough for Death Eaters to recognize him.

One owl he sent to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, a second to Bill Weasley, a third to a goblin investing specialist that Malfoy had named "trustworthy, or at least likely to prefer you over the Dark Lord", and a fourth to Bathilda Bagshot, a historian who might recognize the siege spell used on Hogwarts.

Harry spent the next few days waiting for a response, becoming more agitated as it came closer to the end of the week and he hadn't received a reply from anyone. He slept more than usual, since that was the only time he had human company. Even if it was unwanted, like Malfoy's.

When he asked about Malfoy's dream trick, he was told, "It's a family talent, called Dreamwalking."

"I didn't know that."

"Of course you didn't. It's not like we advertise it. All Malfoys are good at the Mind Arts—you do know of Occlumency and Legilimency, don't you?—but I'm the only one who's mastered Dreamwalking in the last few generations. It can't cause death and destruction, so what's the point?"

There wasn't much Harry could say to that without insulting Malfoy's father, which he wasn't keen on doing. It was better to have an easy truce than to get each other angry. Besides, Harry respected Malfoy, somewhat, for choosing to help him instead of just going with Voldemort's plans. Not that respecting Malfoy meant that he liked him in any way.

**XII**

When Sunday finally came, Harry arrived in front of Honeyduke's an hour early. He wasn't concerned about the twins not being able to figure out his letter – it wasn't exactly in code, and they weren't even close to dull-witted guys – but he did worry about them not getting the letter, or not getting it in time.

Eleven p.m. came and went, then twelve, then half past midnight.

The twins weren't coming. Were they dead? Harry didn't think so. They hadn't lived at home, and their joke shop was still operating…

Quietly, Harry broke into the joke shop and slid through the tunnel inside. Maybe the twins had apparated into the tunnel… Harry knew there wasn't much of a chance of that, but he still followed the tunnel. He would stop before it lead him all the way to Hogwarts, he told himself.

It couldn't be too far to the wards, but Harry still didn't see the twins. They hadn't gotten his letter after all. It must've been close to one in the morning. Harry so tired all of a sudden. He kept walking slowly, only because his legs felt like they were controlling themselves.

_"Potter!"_

His eyes started to close. He was hearing Malfoy's voice, oddly enough.

_"Potter! Dammit, Potter, you can't fall asleep here! Get away from there!"_

Harry would've preferred not to hear Malfoy's voice, even if it was familiar. He'd rather have Fred's, or George's, or Hermione's. Did that count as only two voices since Fred's and George's were so similar?

_"You need to wake me up, not fall asleep yourself! I still owe you a punch in the real world and dammit, we both need to be awake for that!"_

Falling asleep didn't sound like the worst idea Harry'd had. He was about to, except—

"Ow," he muttered. His scar felt like it was being torn apart. Harry couldn't even consider sleeping throught that. He was going to have a vision.

Harry looked around. He was still in the tunnel for that reason. He couldn't have a vision here, so close to Hogwarts. He ran back to Honeyduke's, and apparated out of the tunnel before even reaching the end.

Safe back at his campsite, Harry finally let himself rest, but the vision he expected didn't come. Instead, he fell asleep, and met Malfoy once again. Harry was sitting on a swingset, like the one in the park near the Dursley's house. Malfoy appeared in front of him, then quickly dropped onto the swing next to his. He started yelling almost immediately.

"That was the worst thing you could have done. What were you thinking, Potter? If you were trying to kill yourself—" Malfoy was flushed red in anger, although he seemed oddly worse at the same time. More hunched in on himself. Maybe it had caused him pain, trying to contact Harry earlier. Harry didn't want to even consider that. It was one thing to have Malfoy help him like this, and another for Malfoy for hurt himself trying to save him.

"I wasn't trying to kill myself!" Harry yelled. He'd just wanted to find the twins. And then… he'd been stupid, he could admit that in the privacy of his own head. "I just… I'll listen to you now, okay? I won't try to do that again."

Malfoy sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I realize you hate me, Potter—"

"I don't hate you, Malfoy," Harry said, then felt spectacularly angry. What was he even doing here, talking to Malfoy, getting help from a Death Eater? "I think you're a coward. I hate Voldemort; you're nothing compared to him." Harry wasn't about to feel bad about what he'd said, not even when he saw Malfoy's expression close off.

"I don't want to be compared to him," Malfoy snarled, angrily jumping off the swingset. The ground rose up to meet his feet.

"Finally decided you don't want to follow Daddy?" Harry taunted. It wasn't like Harry was the only one who made mistakes. Malfoy had no right to be angry with him.

"I realized killing hundreds of people wasn't an appealing idea, you arse," Malfoy said, making Harry pause. "Even if they're Muggle-borns, I don't want them dead."

Harry tried to hold on to his anger, but after hearing Malfoy admit how he'd changed made it hopeless. "What do you want?" he asked instead.

"I want him dead. I want to wake up. I want to punch you."

"Same here," Harry said, finding it completely true. He wanted Malfoy awake. He wanted to be able to—

What, exactly?

This was why he didn't try to be friendly with enemies.

What were they supposed to do after this, supposing he broke down the briar?

He didn't want Malfoy to go to Azkaban. No one deserved that. But he also didn't want Malfoy to be punished harshly, or hated by everyone else for being a Death Eater.

Harry followed Malfoy, jumping off his own swing. Malfoy was just standing there and Harry wanted to touch his shoulder, to tell him that they'd do it. They'd win. And when they did, Harry would make sure that Malfoy wouldn't be judged harshly. He was just a teenager, just sixteen, just like Harry. He wasn't a monster or a killer. Just a coward, one who helped him instead of running to Voldemort with his tail between his legs.

_You're not a coward_, Harry wanted to say. _You're really kind of brave. For a Slytherin git._


End file.
